


The Wolf and his Buttercup

by little_pentagram



Series: The Wolf and his Buttercup [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bathing/Washing, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Explicit Consent, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Beta Read, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Winter At Kaer Morhen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27249610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_pentagram/pseuds/little_pentagram
Summary: Jaskier matured after the disastrous dragonhunt on top of that dreaded mountain. Literally. His 200th birthday came and went so now he's finally considered an adult-fae... with soulmarks...Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: The Wolf and his Buttercup [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088414
Comments: 18
Kudos: 305





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Peeps :D
> 
> This is my first piece of fanfiction in a long ass time and also my first (written) story for the Witcherfandom. English is not my mothertongue and I tried my best to get back into it.
> 
> Be warned: my mind spits on Canon and Folklore and loves creating chaos and causes havoc as a favourite pasttime so... well... you'll see :')
> 
> The Origins for my current obssessions with Vipurr, Lambden and (of course) the hot-springs in Kaer Morhen can be found in the amazing works of @rawrkinjd and @round_robin. Please check them out, they are among the Great :3
> 
> Enjoy!

_„See you around, Geralt.”_

Is what he said. Like an _idiot_. Like his heart and soul hadn’t just broken into millions of pieces, small enough to scatter with the wind, to never be seen again.

_Unlovable._

Is what his mind yelled at him while he made his way back to Roach, took his bags, strapped his lute-case to her saddle and bid her farewell. The lute would stay behind with his love, to do with as he pleased. Now, there’s nothing to go back to, no home Jaskier could return to because his beloved Geralt didn’t want him anymore.

_Just like his parents._

Is what he thought. But it was alright. He would be alright. He was used to rejection and heartbreak. He’d just need a drink, a new lute, a new muse. Maybe he’ll grow his hair out. Who knows?

He had an _eternity_ to kill after all. It’s not like time mattered to a fae like him. He’ll be an adult next spring. He’ll finally get into full possession of his power, be able to shift without having to stare at the moon and… if his mate was already born, he’ll finally have their mark on his skin.

_Would his mate want him?_

He didn’t want to know, didn’t want to think about it or about Geralt or about that disaster that just happened or about heartbreak. He just wanted to drink and fuck and maybe fight and sleep. Tonight he’d grief and rage all he wanted, tomorrow he’d get over it, pull himself back together and start over once more.

_It wouldn’t be the first time after all…_


	2. A Lioncub Attacks

_Skipping through a lovely forest,_

_Having the bird`s song lead my way,_

_Enjoying a lovely sunny day,_

_Springtime flowers are the… fairest?_

Oh that rhyme still needed some work but the melody was sure to be stuck in his head for a while now. It’s best to work with what you got, right? _Right_. So, what might his poetic senses be able to pick up on… _What a gorgeous dandelion_! It was nestled perfectly on the roadside, an oak’s roots protecting it from travellers and having lush moss for a bed. It might have been the most wonderful of coincidences for him to spot such a beauty!

It was a most welcome distraction from his less than productive thoughts about composing a springtime song and the _sadly_ less than profitable evening he spent in that _dreadful_ tavern last night. People just had no good taste for artful music nowadays. _The scandal!_ So, the poor bard had to settle for a night on the road instead of a flea-ridden bed in a shitty tavern and did his best to leave the disappointment behind. Not every show needed to be a hit to allow him to survive. He was an almost grown ass fae after all. He could hunt his dinner perfectly well and he knew how to cook it too!

And with that thought in mind he bid his perfect little dandelion farewell and trudged on. Going on and on and on until the sun had risen all the way up to the top of the sky and slowly started to descend again, Jaskier whistled himself a tune and talked aloud with no one but himself. Sometimes he just needed a _true_ expert’s opinion.

He was so invested in a lengthy discussion about the importance of dynamics in ballads that he didn’t notice being watched. A pair of brilliantly green eyes watched him from the thicket, following him silently until nightfall.

Jaskier, who had stolen some food-rations from that gods-awful tavern owner, was about to settle in for the night. He had found a nice place to sleep off the road and the fire was burning merrily so he spread his bedroll over the soft mossy ground and was… _quite_ surprised to have somebody whack him over the head with a log! _Rude_! Moreover a human would have been out cold with the force behind that _unbelievable_ assault so Jaskier, always in for some drama, gracefully went down and played the poor unconscious victim.

Meanwhile the surprisingly quiet, hooded thief had opened his bag and was going through his belongings. It seemed like they were searching for something. With a triumphant, high-pitched squeal the thief pulled out some jerky and an apple and sat down next to the mock-unconscious bard and pulled their cloak’s hood down, revealing long white-blonde hair. Just as the thief took their first bite, Jaskier got an eyeful of their face.

_Seven Hells!_

Jaskier knew _that_ face!

He must have squeaked aloud because the thief’s, no, the GIRL’S head whipped around and big luminous green eyes focused on the wide-eyed bard.

“Princess…Cirilla” was all Jaskier could say before the child bolted, the bard hot on her heels.

“Wait! Princess! Please!” Damn, but the girl was quick, running around with a child’s agility, dodging branches and prickly plants, never missing her step, never tripping and never looking back. She truly was hellbent on escaping him! _Melitele’s tits_ he almost stumbled over his own clumsy feet just now! Graceful fae his ass! This was taxing! “Princess! I am Jaskier! The Bard!” Jaskier panted. He needed to make her understand that he meant no harm because there was no way he’d catch her! This running around must be what kept her alive until now! “I played at your birthdays! You know me!” Cirilla jumped onto a fallen tree and swiftly crossed a small stream, one that was too broad to jump over and there was _no way_ the tree trunk she used as a bridge wouldn’t break underneath his weight! _Fuck_! But the child stopped at the other side of the stream and looked at him. It was perhaps the first good glance she got and as Jaskier stood there, allowing her that small moment he watched a slow smile to spread across her face, lighting up her eyes. She crossed the stream once more, threw her arms around Jaskier and hugged him very tightly. The bard was quick to hug her back with one arm, the other petting her head in a soothing manner. She deserved all the affection she could get.

_The great Bard was selfless like that._

“You reek!” was the first thing that left Cirilla`s mouth once she finally let go of him and they made their way back to Jaskier’s meek camp. Cirilla was chewing on the jerky she stole, the smile still on her face. The bard huffed playfully: “We can’t all smell like roses, sweet princess.”

“It’ Fiona, you know? It’s safer that way.” was the girl’s mumbled reply.

“And where are you headed? My sweet Fiona, I’m sure you understand that I’m worried about your wellbeing. A lovely young lady like yourself shouldn’t be running through the woods at night! A young maiden might fall prey to a beast when she’s all by her… _lonesome_!” He said the last word with a dangerous and low voice, imitating a predator by circling her while they continued walking. Cirilla – _Fiona_ – started giggling so hard that she choked on her last bit of jerky, coughing quite a bit. She got it under control just as Jaskier started worrying about her, flailing his arms uselessly in front of her.

“I don’t know where I’m going. Grandmother told me to find somebody and that I am destined to meet them and will therefore find them sure. I fled the castle afterwards.” She looked to the ground, deliberately not meeting his eyes. Her voice sounded a bit strained. _Bollocks_!

“And may I ask who you are looking for? I might be able to help,” Jaskier gently told her. He wanted to cheer her up and at the same time he wanted to bet his new, shiny lute that he knew the _certain somebody_ that old Calanthe ordered the small girl to find. Screw that hag! How was little Ciri supposed to track a Witcher?! _Evading one was hard enough!_

“I’d rather keep it a secret.” Well, at least she made eye-contact for that strong statement. Her voice didn’t waver either. He better not underestimate this fierce lioness.

“That is, of course, a wise decision. May I keep you company? It would be easier to travel that way. I’m currently headed north.” Because _damn all the GODS_ , he might be bitter and angry and hurt and he might want to slap Geralt of _fucking_ Rivia but this girl needed to get away from Nilfgaard! She’d need a place for the next winter and the one after that and the northern nobility could not be trusted with keeping the lion cub safe. No place on this continent was going to be safer than that myth of a castle up in the Blue Mountains. _Saint Geralt_ would have to suck it up.

It was more of a snap decision, really. Running from angry folks taught him to be quick or be dead. But by Melitele’s tits his gut instinct was _right_. Cirilla needed Geralt and Jaskier knew where the bastard would be for winter…

They reached Jaskiers camp and the bard gave Ciri more food to eat as well as the waterskin while waiting for her to contemplate his offer. She was such a smart girl.

“Going north sounds great! It would be wonderful to travel together! Thank you Jaskier.” And her smile was back in full force, showing all her teeth and the gaps in between, mischief gleaming in her eyes. Oh, she was marvellous. Jaskier could only nod and usher her to his bedroll. She needed to sleep and he needed some space to think about his… _great_ decision. So while she slept he poked at the fire, gazed at the stars and wondered what else Lady Destiny might have in store for him.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It was exactly a week before summer began. They had already travelled half the way to Ard Carraigh and still had more than a full season to reach the Witcher’s Trail. The day started like every other day in Jaskier’s and Cirilla’s new, a bit strange but comfortable, daily routine. They woke up, had a small breakfast, Jaskier would get rid of the remains of last night’s fire while Cirilla packed their few belongings away. They saddled Pegasus, the mare being Jaskier’s proudest bit of theft up until now, and tied their bags to the horse. After hiding all their traces of the night they’d set to the road. Ciri walked until her legs hurt and rode on Pegasus for the remainder of the day, talking and laughing at Jaskier’s silly anecdotes and jokes.

Cirilla had her own belongings now and was very proud of every item she got to call her own. She had suffered more than enough in her young life and Jaskier’s heart bled for her pain.

So, like every other day they walked until the sun started to set, looked for a place to sleep and prepared their camp. Ciri was now capable of hunting their dinner – thanks to Jaskier’s teaching - and was delighted in doing so. Their rabbit was mostly finished when the cramps in Jaskier’s body started. They slowly built in intensity and after the meal Jaskier was sweating and trembling uncontrollably. His skin felt too tight and his throat dried up but he still managed to somehow tell Ciri what was happening. It was his birthday, he was born shortly before midnight and his body prepared to the shift of power in his body. The ability to spread his wings any time he wanted and unlocking the full potential of his magical prowess needed to make adjustments to his body beforehand. It hurt but it was okay. It had to be because it would take roughly six hours of pain and fever and rest before it was over.

_Rest… Sleep sounded really good._

He opened his eyes to Ciri glancing at him worriedly every few seconds. She looked like she was about to _bombard_ him with questions and he was suddenly really glad that he had had the foresight to tell her about this particular night before it happened. Yesterday he had just wheezed “it’s time” before passing out for what seemed like several hours. The bard didn’t know what to say so he just sat up and opened his arms to hold his princess close and offer her the comfort she obviously craved. The poor girl looked like she had kept watch all night, she was really tense and needed quite a few minutes to relax.

_His_ princess? Okay that was a thought for later, now wasn’t the time.

When Ciri seemed to be done with cuddling she urged Jaskier to stand and that’s when he noticed the blood on his bedroll. His wings must have broken through his skin then. A child shouldn’t have had to see _that_ …

The girl led him to the small stream near their camp and asked him to strip and bathe while she’d fetch him a change of attire and would wash the blood out of his probably ruined ones. She must have been _dead on her feet_ but still wanted to take care of him.

Jaskier wordlessly smiled at her, looked at his reflection where he could see a blurry image of his great dark blue-feathered wings, small blue horns, pink and blue eyes and the blue freckles on his cheeks. The pink tips on his hair were new but the rest looked just like he used to. Now he was an adult fae with the power to shift during the day too and… there was a _lot_ of magic under his skin, electrifying his blood.

_Blood_ … Jaskier turned to Ciri, who looked at him with open but tired fascination, patiently waiting for him to do as she’d asked and Jaskier noticed the bags under her eyes. “Sleep, lion cub for I am fine now. I will protect you.” It was a true testament to how exhausted the girl truly was because she barely protested when Jaskier escorted her back to her bedroll, made her drink some water and put her to bed. She was soundly asleep in seconds. He hesitantly walked back to the stream afterwards.

_And now… to the grand finale…_

Jaskier stripped out of what was left of his undershirt. Ciri must have removed his doublet before his wings burst through, bless the girl. The bard tried not to look at himself until he was naked. Then he took a tentative glance and…

_Jaskier was sure his heart skipped a couple beats right then!_

For at the centre of his chest was a proudly displayed bouquet of dandelions and his arms and legs were sprinkled with small single dandelions. They were so delicate!

_His soulmarks were beautiful._

His fated mate was out there somewhere and he’d find them after making sure Ciri was safe and well-taken-care-of like she deserved. With that thought clear in his mind he set to washing himself.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It was well into autumn when the bard and _his daughter_ walked through the city gates of Ard Carraigh, leaving the bustling town behind them and making their way towards what they suspected to be the beginning of the Witcher’s Trail.

Jaskier had introduced _Fiona_ , as Ciri preferred to be called in public, to the town’s resident haircutter earlier that day and told the man to cut the girl’s hair so it only reached slightly past her small shoulders. While the haircutter was busy with his cub Jaskier bought all the necessary tools, food rations, chicken, seemingly random odd tools and warm clothing he knew Geralt purchased every fall in this very same town. The knowledge came quite in handy and the bard spent most of the money he had earned during summertime and most of the coin his sneaky princess had stolen on their preparations for climbing a _fucking_ mountain.

Just as he was making his way back to fetch Ciri and pay for her haircut he saw _IT._

It was small and delicate looking with a slender handle with little decoration save for a single green stone embedded into the centre of the dagger’s handle, appearing to be light enough for a young girl to wield. The steel blade looked sturdy though and with little to no second thought Jaskier purchased the _perfect_ gift for Ciri. He wanted to spoil his favourite princess!

So after everything was settled Ciri, Jaskier and Pegasus were on their way and wandered along the well-kept path. They’d have to make camp soon for Ciri would need all the energy she could possibly get, she was about to climb a track called _The Killer_ after all. Not that she knew that of course. The princess thought it was just another adventure towards their home for the winter.

The next day Jaskier realised they were indeed on the correct path because after they stopped for lunch the well-kept path suddenly turned into a narrow, barely recognisable track. Jaskier slowly led the way, holding Pegasus’ reins with Ciri trudging next to the horse and breathing heavily. The track got steeper and Jaskier let his fae-senses surface to make sure they wouldn’t make a wrong turn. The faded scent of horse and sweat clung to some plants and stones, old hoofmarks barely visible here and there. They needed to take a break every half an hour now, Ciri was exhausted but determined to continue until Jaskier decided to that it was enough rough climbing for the day. They made camp as soon as the sun started to descend, Ciri eating her fill and falling asleep right after. Jaskier smiled at her warmly. They’d have to repeat this pattern for a few more days before they arrived at the old keep, hopefully doing so before the first night-frost came.

_So this was it._

Jaskier was really doing this. He was really going to invade Kaer Morhen without proper invitation, a keep full of Witchers, to _demand_ from Geralt to take care of his child while also _maybe_ giving him a piece of his mind. _Gods_ , he was so nervous. He had tried not to think about what might happen once they got to the castle but it was hard. Geralt’s words still hurt and the way things ended left him wounded and raw. They had known each other for two decades and been in a romantic relationship for half the time. They had _loved_ each other, been stronger and better together. Sure they fought sometimes but they made up and continued on. Some disasters they found themselves in were handled better than others, the Djinn-incident being their worst. It had been a misunderstanding that came with severe consequences for both of them, meeting Yennefer was a salvation back then even though that Witch was batshit-crazy.

Jaskier still loved him.

It hurt and Geralt sure as hell didn’t deserve the bard’s tender feelings anymore but _Melitele forgive him_ he couldn’t stop loving that bastard. It felt like rubbing salt into his wounds.

_If life could give him one blessing…_ he’d like to sleep without dreaming about Geralt.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Jaskier rounded a corner and suddenly the stunning view of Kaer Morhen was simply… _there_. He hadn’t gotten a single glimpse of the majestic keep while climbing the steep tracks leading to this stunning view, it had always been hidden from prying eyes such as his own. Ciri, who has been bundled up in her warm cloak and mostly asleep on Pegasus, was startled awake by Jaskier’s unintentional gleeful noises. “It’s _gorgeous_ ,” the girl whispered awestruck, like she was afraid raising her voice would disrupt the magic of the moment. “It _is_ ,” whispered the bard back. It would probably take them another half an hour to reach the keep’s gates but that was alright, they had their goal right in front of them, aching feet were forgotten.

Would anybody be home? Jaskier knew from Geralt’s stories that old Vesemir rarely left the keep these days but with his _luck_ …?

Before he could properly begin to overthink things _again_ , like he had done these last few days while walking up this treacherous path, an unfamiliar voice rumbled: “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The bard looked up the keep’s walls and sure enough an old, white-haired Witcher met his gaze steadily.

“My name is Jaskier and this is Cirilla. I am escorting Geralt’s daughter to the safety of your home. Twelve years ago Geralt has claimed her by the law of surprise.” Jaskier willed his voice not to shake from the turmoil of feelings inside him. Vesemir had every right to turn them away. It wasn’t his mess to clean up after all. They were strangers but the old Witcher grunted at them and moved out of sight. A few minutes after the great gate of Kaer Morhen started to descend, allowing Jaskier and Ciri to enter the castle.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Eskel was curious when he arrived at Kaer Morhen about a week later. He had found unfamiliar traces and scents at various spots on the mountainside and he wanted to know what was going on. So after greeting Vesemir warmly, stabling Scorpion and making sure his stallion was comfortable he approached the new mare a sniffed at her while feeding her an apple. He shrugged to himself when he couldn’t find any clues about their guests so he grabbed his bags and gear and headed inside the keep.

Sure enough, a young man and a little girl were having late breakfast in the great hall, their backs facing him. Vesemir was nowhere to be found.

Eskel cleared his throat before approaching them. He didn’t want to startle the girl.

The young man turned around, let his eyes sweep over his figure once, met his eyes again and smiled brightly. Huh, _that_ was an uncommon reaction to his… everything. Eskel regarded the girl next and found her staring at him with curiosity. Both stood up a moment later.

“Good morning, my name is Eskel. May I ask for yours?” Eskel inclined his head in greeting.

“Good morning, dear Eskel! I am Jaskier and this lovely young lady is Cirilla. We are welcome to stay in your home until Geralt arrives to claim his child-surprise.” Ciri curtsied and the man, Jaskier, bowed dramatically.

The child spoke, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Eskel.”

Eskel nodded, returned the polite sentiment, smiled at the girl and took a seat at the table, fetching some food for himself. They conversed lightly and Ciri, having obviously only recently learned about Geralt and the law of surprise, was very interested in everything. Jaskier, Geralt’s former bard because _who else would he be_ , was a quick-witted and charming man. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Geralt was head over toes for this man.

And Geralt had _still_ managed to fuck his relationship up. He hasn’t been the same since.

Eskel was looking forward to seeing how this disaster would end. He wanted his brother back.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Lambert and Aiden arrived next, eyeing Jaskier curiously and after trading a few quick barbs and sharp insults the Witchers were content with him staying here. They obviously adored Ciri and Jaskier had no illusion that they weren’t looking forward to witnessing Geralt’s reaction upon coming home.

They surely _loved_ drama when it didn’t involve them. Fuckers.

Jaskier was also sure they had some sort of betting pool. Honest to the gods, Jaskier didn’t want to know the details. He pulled his weight with the preparations for winter (he wouldn’t take advantage of Vesemir’s kindness) and tried to keep his head down. Ciri followed the Vesemir like a duckling, begging for information and stories and the old grumpy Witcher seemed rather content with it.

Gaetan and Letho arrived next, sniffed at him and while the small Cat cackled like a _maniac_ the huge Viper sighed and grunted something about _his peaceful winter going to hell_. Jaskier wanted to snark something in return, but he thought better of it. There was no need to agitate a tired, hulking Witcher, so he sighed _dramatically_ , turned and looked for Eskel. That even-tempered man was a godsdamn _blessing_.

And then, because _of course_ it had to happen sooner rather than later, Geralt was at the keep’s gates, looking as grumpy as only he could.


	3. Short Break

Can you tell that I went with the Pansexual-Pride-Flag for Jaskier's colour scheme?  
It fit so perfectly...

Btw that quick sketch was done by yours truly :3


	4. Insanity

Geralt was joylessly stomping into the courtyard when that _damned familiar scent_ suddenly hit him. He came to an abrupt halt, checking and double-checking his surroundings before stabling Roach quickly. The mare surely deserved better treatment than that but he had a _fucking_ _scent_ to track down as quickly as possible. It made him restless and the hair on his neck stood on end. This was not _good_.

It annoyed him to no end.

He marched into the keep, followed the fragrance into the great hall where he came up short _yet again_. He knew that scent! Why didn’t he recognise Jaskier’s flowery scent? That was odd but could be pondered later. Why was he… _here_?

Geralt stared at the bard, who slowly put his spoon down and cleared his throat. He stood up and rounded the table where his pack and guests were eating their dinner.

It was eerily silent in the great hall. Everybody had their eyes fixed on Geralt.

As soon as Witcher realised that the bard was approaching him he felt trapped, like he was in grave danger so he did the only _reasonable_ thing: he growled at Jaskier menacingly.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks and looked at Geralt strangely.

What was the bard staring at? _He’s staring at you._

Did he see something he shouldn’t? _He’s always interfered with things he shouldn’t. He’s dangerous._ _Let’s keep our distance._

But Jaskier was dead, wasn’t he? Geralt had searched the whole continent for his bard, hadn’t been able to recharge last winter because he was so worried over his love’s wellbeing! _And look, he’s as healthy as he’s always been. He didn’t care about how you felt without him._

Geralt didn’t know what to think. Why was Jaskier looking at him like he was confused about Geralt’s reaction? The Witcher had wanted to apologise but the bard had disappeared, like the ground had swallowed him whole! _Perhaps the bard hadn’t wanted to be found? Perhaps he had his sights on somebody else? Maybe it was another Wolf-Witcher that was striking his fancy now? His brothers weren’t as broken as he was after all…_

Geralt had thought the man dead but Jaskier was alive and well and… it somehow hurt. _It hurt so much! But if the bard was alright with hurting him so badly… maybe Geralt would be better off with that menace actually being… **dead**._

No! Geralt didn’t want Jaskier dead, but something felt off. His head felt like it had been stuffed with _wool_ so the Witcher was confused and didn’t know what to do. He needed to clear his mind but… how?

_It would be best to keep his distance for now…_

“Fuck off bardling!” Geralt demanded snidely and wanted to storm out of the great hall and barricade himself in his room only to have the old oak-doors _slam closed_ in front of him. What the fuck?

“Excuse me? I should do _what_ exactly?” Jaskier’s voice seethed with anger, his scent filling with the stench of hurt and misery.

_Not good…_

The bard thundered on, mindless of Geralt’s stunned silence: “You’ve got some _nerve_! First you dare _spit_ at me on some dreadful _fucking_ mountain and okay, I can _handle_ that, it’s not like you bastard _broke my heart_ or anything but now, you storm in here, disturb everybody, _startle_ sweet _Cirilla_ and then proceed to _growl at me_?! Are you _fucking_ sane? Or did you perhaps lose yet _another marble_? Because _Saint_ Geralt I **swear** to all the gods-“

“The gods can’t hear you, no matter how loud you scream nobody will ever listen,” Geralt heard himself calmly reply. It sounded strange and felt even more so. Something made him turn around, open the door and walk away. He didn’t understand why the sense of danger was suddenly gone, why he had said that just now and he honestly didn’t want to think about it anymore. It was so surreal and… _Sleep sounded good_ …

The thought of sleeping this whole thing of was like an addictive perfume wrapping around his head.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Jaskier stood in the middle of the room, mouth agape and mind reeling.

What just _happened_?

Geralt had marched inside, stared at him, growled at him, stared some more, ignored Jaskier’s attempt at a polite greeting and told him off so… hurtfully. The bard’s angry outburst didn’t mean anything to Geralt; he didn’t care about Jaskier any longer.

The musician’s heart constricted and his throat closed. He wouldn’t start crying in front of the others. He was embarrassed enough already so he mumbled something about being tired, wished them a good-nights-sleep and fled the room. He needed some privacy, needed to think this through while crying in peace.

How _dare_ Geralt treat him like that? How _dare_ he _discard_ Jaskier like a _fucking_ **_nuisance_**?

They had _loved_ each other! For a decade they had been happy together and **_now_**?

Oh Melitele preserve him, he could feel his emotions bubbling in his tummy.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It had been a few days since the White-Wolf came home and broke the bard’s heart all over again. Eskel’s chest had squeezed painfully when he witnessed Geralt cruelly dismissing the bard and the dark-haired Witcher had been too shocked to do something about it.

After Jaskier had left the great hall it had taken all of Eskel’s willpower not to follow the man and comfort him… or go and strangle his idiotic brother…

_What in the seven hells had Geralt been thinking?!_

But then he looked over to little Cirilla who was very quiet and smelled confused and sad. He needed to take care of the cub first; she was only a child after all. The other Witchers seemed to come to the same conclusion and kept it together until Ciri was asleep.

Lambert had been so furious that Aiden had forcefully dragged him back to their room and Eskel had heard some very… rough sounds until well past midnight. Both Witchers had quite an array of teeth marks on their visible skin when they emerged for breakfast. Letho and Gaetan had spent the night in the woods, doing the _gods_ only know what. Vesemir had disappeared for the night like he often did and Eskel had been left pacing up and down his room, thinking hard.

_Something was very wrong with his monosyllabic brother…_

Vesemir has kept Ciri busy since that catastrophic evening, teaching her the basic stances for hand-to-hand combat and how to defend herself. He also taught her about the monsters that roamed the continent and various poisons and edible plants and everything else he could think of. Which was a **lot** and Ciri has been so tired every evening that she didn’t seem to notice the tense silences and hostile glares Geralt threw at Jaskier. The bard obviously ignored Eskel’s brother for Ciri’s sake.

Jaskier’s anger and hurt seemed to grow with each passing day and just when he couldn’t take it anymore and packed his bags to leave Ciri with the Witchers the first snowstorm hit the castle, trapping them for the rest of the winter. Eskel had been able to smell the storm for two days now and he was very glad the snow started right on time because he wanted to help fix this mess. Jaskier had to stay now and that gave Eskel ample time to convince Geralt to confide in his older brother.

It was easier said than done though.

Geralt went out of his way to avoid the other residents of the keep, acting as though they suffered from some stupid contagious disease, which was _impossible_ for fucking Kreve’s sake! The white-haired Witcher had shut Eskel’s attempts to talk out, rudely ignoring him or leaving the room before Eskel had even finished the sentence.

_Melitele’s tits!_

This stubborn man would be even less cooperative if he met resistance or felt like he was forced to do something… _logical like apologise or speak the fuck up!_ Eskel didn’t feel such potent anger simmer in his gut often but this mess was driving him up a wall!

A few hours later Eskel could hear Lambert colourfully cussing Geralt out, calling him very unflattering names and describing very vividly how he’d cheer the bard up or make him cry for very different reasons if the lad were his. The prickly wolf was apparently done being patient and was looking to talk with his fists rather than make Geralt use his words while Aiden tried to comfort Jaskier.

Neither Witcher’s effort went remarkably well. Even though Geralt limped for a while, which made the youngest wolf visibly proud, Lambert earned a black eye which had Aiden, his mate, almost snap and attack Geralt – Cats were mad like that – but he held himself back because Lambert demanded to have his _grave injury_ licked and tended the Cat-way.

_What a crazy bunch…_

Meanwhile Eskel had _heard_ Jaskier squeal to the _high heavens_ , making every Witcher in the keep wince and rub their ears, when he found the animal corpse in front of his door and then rambled for almost fifteen minutes that he hadn’t meant to hurt Aiden’s feelings and that he was simply startled because he didn’t expect the… _kind gesture_ …

Aiden, being a Cat, was easily mollified.

Thank all the gods that Jaskier knew how cats, the animals, worked and that Cat-Witchers had some… _similar traits_ …

He must have found some wolfish behaviour in Geralt before everything went to shit.

Meanwhile Eskel had no idea how to proceed and he caught Letho rolling his eyes at their situation many times a day. The scarred Witcher secretly hoped Letho’s eyes would get stuck and stay that way. Gaetan was running some unnecessary and deeply unflattering _commentary_ , cackling like the madman he was. Letho looked like he found his mate’s antics and amusement deeply endearing and he smelled quite content watching his “ _murder-kitty_ ” agitate the rest of the Witchers with his… _suggestions_.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Watching the Witchers train was quite the viscous spectacle and Jaskier was very glad that he didn’t have to participate. He was very content to watch from the distance, going about with his daily chores. The bard had many reputations to his name but he’d never slack off from work. He was just crossing the courtyard where the Witchers trained to go clean the stables when a very threatening growl rose from his left.

His instincts made his pull up short and check for potential danger just as he saw Geralt, sword in hand, lunge… _at him!_

Jaskier yelped and barely evaded Geralt’s attack but the Witcher turned on his heel and swung the sword at him once more. The bard jumped out of the way yet again, readied his stance and yelled at Geralt to fucking stop attacking him!

_What was wrong him??_

Geralt seemed to not hear Jaskier. The Witcher made low rumbling noises and didn’t cease his onslaught. Jaskier didn’t even have time to shift! _This was bad_! The White-Wolf charged at him with scary speed and almost graced Jaskier twice. Fucking hells this was _very bad_ indeed! Why did that idiot-Witcher have to be so swift and adaptable! The bard was aware the Witcher was slowly driving him into a corner of the courtyard. _Fuck_ , he’d soon have no room to escape the man. The other Witchers tried rushing to his aid and managed to momentarily distract the White-Wolf and while Geralt changed his stance to defend himself against his own brethren _of all people_ so Jaskier took the opportunity and shifted into his fae-form and used his magic form a shock-wave and knock that fucking bastard out.

Eskel caught Geralt before the unconscious man hit the ground and Vesemir barked at them to bring his idiotic son inside and to check him for wounds and curses so Eskel carried his brother inside and up several staircases to their alchemy room. Jaskier followed him swiftly. He wanted to see what was going on but he still politely averted his eyes when Eskel stripped his brother bare. Geralt was no longer his to look at.

Jaskier couldn’t wrap his head around the last five minutes. Geralt had attacked him… with murder in his eyes and the sure intention to end his life. The bard swallowed thickly and was glad when Eskel called his name. Eskel was done checking Geralt for wounds so it was Jaskier’s turn to run a magical check to ensure the unconscious Witcher wasn’t cursed to kill his… whatever Jaskier was now.

Jaskier took a deep breath to steady his fluttering heartbeat and faced Geralt’s naked body. The bard choked and made a squeaky noise somewhere in his throat because the man lying on that table had a litany of delicate dandelions littering his arms and legs and chest and… every single flower’s location matched the flowers covering the musician’s body. Jaskier’s eyes started to water and his knees felt weak. Eskel was at his side in an instant, ready to catch him.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Eskel asked worriedly. He was frowning and it made his scars pull endearingly.

Jaskier shook his head, rolled up the sleeves of his winter-gear and showed his forearms to the other Witcher. Eskel quickly connected the dots, eyes snapping from Jaskier to Geralt and back again only to widen almost comically.

“Geralt has a fae for a mate…” Eskel breathed quietly, awe-struck expression meeting Jaskier’s big blue orbs.

“But he doesn’t want me”, mumbled the bard, averting his gaze shamefully.

“You should check him for curses, maybe he’s unwell and needs saving”, Eskel urged the bard gently. It was starkly visible that the dark-haired Witcher prayed to every god he knew that he was right, that this was fixable. A true mate’s love lasted longer than a lifetime and for two near-immortal beings… well…

So Jaskier straightened up, pulled his shoulders back, held his head high and approached Geralt. He willed his hands not to shake, just like he willed his heart not to flee his ribcage and tried to contain his hope even though he knew Eskel could smell it. His hands hovered above the white-haired Witcher’s chest and Jaskier felt his magic slowly move through his arms like a cool breeze and drip from his fingertips to enter Geralt’s body. Jaskier felt his magic slowly and carefully move inside Geralt, spreading out to analyse every bit of… his mate.

Suddenly he met resistance; a dark corner of Geralt’s brain rejected his gentle magic, pushing back violently. _Something_ was fighting him, it screamed at him, tried to struggle and writhe but Jaskier caught it and engulfed it with his magic. Suddenly the screeching turned into words - cursing Jaskier out and wishing him dead - and Jaskier felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

_He knew that dreadful voice. How dare this creature – this- this abomination!_

It was the Djinn! After Jaskier had forcefully ripped it out of Yennefer’s body he thought it had ceased to exist! Instead it found Geralt’s body and replenished lost energy only to strike again now! Jaskier was _beyond_ enraged! This hare-brained creature had nurtured on Geralt’s Witcher-magic and was drunk on his mutagens. It yelled and fought and writhed and cursed and it was so slippery that Jaskier had great trouble getting a good grip on it. He swore under his breath and suddenly Eskel – ever-kind and reliable Eskel – who was so talented in all magical and witchery things was there and together they managed to crowd the Djinn into a corner of Geralt’s mind and annihilate it right there. Jaskier made the Djinn burst into magical flames that spread through Geralt’s entire body to search for more remaining magic or signs of malfunction. Nothing was left.

And then it was over.

Jaskier’s hands were shaking and he was panting and sweating and his heart felt like a humming-bird’s fluttering wings and his mind was blank and at the same time it was racing like crazy. He felt like he was drowning. The bard was so close to tears, it felt like they were trying to choke him.

It had been almost three years since the Djinn-incident. That damn beast had feasted on his love for years and Jaskier hadn’t noticed. He had failed his soulmate.

Jaskier held his breath when he saw Geralt’s eyelids flutter and open. His eyes first focussed on his brother and Eskel smiled at Geralt tenderly. Then Geralt took in the rest of the room only to let his golden gaze settle on Jaskier’s pink-blue eyes. The Witcher averted his eyes and sat up gingerly with Eskel’s help. The three men quiet for several minutes.

Surprisingly, it was Geralt who broke the silence. He mumbled quietly while looking intently at the floor: “I- I… hurt you… I didn’t mean… I don’t- I don’t deserve you…”

And that was it. Jaskier was at his limit, he couldn’t take it anymore so the wordlessly turned around and stormed out of the room.


	5. Dandelions

Geralt was soaking in the hot spring next to Eskel, staring at the tiny snapdragons decorating Lambert’s arms, shoulders and throat with unbidden envy and longing. Sliding his gaze to Aiden, who was snuggled up to his mate, didn’t make him feel any better. Those two crackheads were currently so busy roasting Eskel that they let his staring slide… for now…

Those flowers were quite accurately describing Aiden’s and Lambert’s relationship and personalities.

Geralt allowed his gaze to drop down to his own chest and arms where he could see the tiny dandelions resting on his skin for all eternity. There were more flowers on his legs but he couldn’t make them out in the warm and gently moving water. The Witcher sighed dejectedly.

He felt out of place and he knew he smelled forlorn and miserable but he just couldn’t help himself. Geralt had apologised to the other Witchers yesterday and when he tried to make amends with his child-surprise the girl had looked at him suspiciously and told him to _watch it_ which was quite rude but who could blame her? Geralt had hurt her guardian’s feelings so often after all.

_Her guardian…_

Jaskier had barricaded himself in his room and had yet to emerge. Geralt wanted to beg for his love’s forgiveness but he knew he didn’t deserve it after letting that Djinn gradually cloud his judgement and drive his partner away. He remembered what was going on while the Djinn controlled his actions, he knew what his body had said and done.

_Shut up bard!_

_If life could give me one blessing…_

_Fuck off bardling!_

_The gods can’t hear you._

_Geralt_ had let the Djinn steer his actions and _Geralt_ had allowed the Djinn to charge at his beloved. No matter how he looked at it, this mess was solely his fault and he didn’t know how to make it up to his bard.

And yet Jaskier was still here, was avoiding him but the Witcher knew that the fae could easily fly down the mountain if he _really_ wanted to. Nothing could keep an adult-fae on the ground if their wings still worked. They were far more powerful than some shitty snowstorm.

_But… it didn’t matter._

It shouldn’t matter because Geralt had soulmarks now. His love for Jaskier would never cease to exist, he was sure of it but the bard was no longer _his_ to love. The White-Wolf was meant for somebody else and it _scared_ him.

_What was he supposed to do now?_

Just as Geralt’s thoughts started to spiral down _fucking fast_ Eskel nudged his shoulder and looked at him questioningly. Geralt sighed and mumbled: “Just thought about my soulmarks.”

“Well, what’s wrong with your soulmarks?” Eskel asked at the same time as Lambert smirked and remarked: “Pfft _poor bastard_ , not everybody can have _snapdragons_ for a soul-connection. Don’t be jealous, the bard’s quite fond of ‘em!”

“Jaskier is… what?” Geralt frowned, thoroughly confused and not sure he wanted an answer from _Lambert_ of all people. Mischief glinted in Aiden’s eyes as he leaned forward and smirked conspiratorially: “Well, if you _have_ to know-“

Eskel promptly dunked Aiden’s head into the water and mumbled something about _revenge_ and _ambush-predator my ass_ which sent Lambert into a fit of snorting giggles before the scarred Witcher faced Geralt once more, expression serious again: “Jaskier is fond of the dandelions decorating his body. He thinks they are… what was the word… awe-inspiring?”

Aiden came up sputtering and grumbled about his moment being _ruined by petty Witchers_ but Geralt tuned him out. The white-haired Witcher was sure he was gaping at Eskel like a fish because his brain had stumbled and was now stuck on _Jaskier is fond of the dandelions decorating his body_.

_Jaskier was…_

Suddenly _something_ poked his cheek and he whirled around only to see Gaetan stand in front of him in all his naked glory, cackling and cooing at him. Letho was stepping into the water behind his mate, rolling his eyes fondly. Both Witchers had wolfsbane cover their stomachs, hips and thighs. _That_ flower was constantly abused as teasing material whenever Gaetan was bored even though there were always way more hickeys adorning his body than soulmarks.

“Have ye had the chance t’ speak with Jaskier?” Letho inquired after he settled next to Lambert. Gaetan drifted over and settled on his lap, wriggling around and grinning like a shark.

_Those two…_

Geralt swallowed and spoke: “I haven’t seen Jaskier since I woke up yesterday. He is upset and doesn’t want to leave his room.”

“Can’t blame ‘im… What’re ye going t’ do ‘bout it?” Letho answered and Geralt had _no idea_ so he simply shrugged and looked down at the dandelions decorating his arms once more.

Letho was a man of _action_ , he knew who he was, he had no illusions about the world and he enjoyed scarce company save for winter. Gaetan, who was the personification of crazy and unapologetic honesty, was the only glorious exception. Geralt wasn’t like that, he wanted to be like Letho but he wasn’t so sure about what was right and wrong so he tended to overthink and miss opportunities.

“How about hunting something for him to make a coat out of? He seems not to enjoy the cold…” Aiden mused.

“You fucker just want to hunt and kill something!” Lambert pointed an accusing finger at his mate and continued: “The bard’s a bloody romantic! He enjoys flowers and birds and music and shit… Hey Geralt, why don’t you compose him a song and sing it for him from below his window? That would surely make him flee his room!”

“You’re just as much of a bastard as I am”, Aiden grumbled.

“Why don’t you simply run his door down?” Geatan seemed genuinely confused: “A door can be repaired after you apologised. Hmmm, he does seem like somebody who values his privacy though…”

“Yeah, just wash up real quick, run his door down, apologise and present your marks. That bard won’t know what hit him once he sees your shapely ass!” Aiden cackled.

“I don’t enjoy sex like you do and I was in a relationship with Jaskier for a decade before… shit went down so he knows I don’t often want him to fuck me.” Geralt replied calmly. Sex was a topic he felt comfortable discussing, the _heavens_ knew Jaskier was the reason Geralt was able to speak about now. The Witcher knew now that he had nothing to fear when stating his needs and limits. His consent mattered.

Letho’s eyebrows rose when he asked: “What kinda intimacy do ye enjoy most then?”

Eskel, the only Witcher in the hot springs whose soulmarks had yet to show, had been watching their exchange quietly until now. He chuckled and replied before his brother could: “Baths are his _absolute favourite_ and Jaskier greatly enjoys them as well.”

“Why don’t you return the favour then? If sex isn’t up your alley then you can prepare some fancy-ass private bath for Jaskier and get that fucking apology out of your system?” Aiden leaned back, satisfied with the solution.

_It was a bloody brilliant suggestion…_

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Jaskier’s body was aching like crazy. It had been a long day full of chores and responsibilities that he had been neglecting for a few days now because he hadn’t known how to face Geralt after everything that had transpired between them. It had been his hunger for company that had ultimately driven him out of his room, he was worried how Ciri was faring and he wanted to talk with somebody other than himself. He had felt like he was slowly going insane so he had darted downstairs and after a quick breakfast where Jaskier had ignored Geralt’s presence he had thrown himself into work.

The bard felt disgusting in his sweat and dirt streaked clothing but the thought of lying down and sleeping the ache off was hard to resist so he slowly made his way upstairs.

_Damn, why did this hellish keep consist of so many stairs?_

Eskel rounded the corner just as Jaskier opened his door and the Witcher’s nose twitched in mild disgust. The dark-haired Witcher smiled a moment later and asked whether or not Jaskier wanted to join him in the hot springs. Jaskier was quickly convinced that sleeping in your own stench was far from pleasant so he readily agreed and quickly fetched a change of attire, some soaps and a towel.

The two men were conversing lightly as they made their way downstairs once more and Eskel, ever the gentleman, opened the door to the hot springs for Jaskier and just as the bard froze after stepping over the threshold Eskel whispered: “ _Please_ give him a chance.” Then he closed the door and walked away.

Jaskier’s gaze slowly wandered from the door behind him to the man next to the closest and smallest hot spring. The man, Geralt, was clad in only a towel and was looking at Jaskier with barely hidden nervousness.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Jaskier’s voice sounded harsher than he had wanted it to and he held himself rigidly.

“I want to apologise for what happened and I wanted to do it properly.” Geralt voice sounded rehearsed and strained. Jaskier was tense and suspicious, spying the gathered soaps and oils between Geralt and the small hot spring. The bard nodded for him to continue.

Geralt took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak but no sound left him. He averted his gaze and started fidgeting, Jaskier could hear his rapid heartbeat, smell his discomfort and despite everything the bard took one step towards Geralt and tilted his head. It was an invitation for Geralt to speak, showing that Jaskier was willing to listen. He’d be able to walk away if were to turn out as yet another disaster.

“I am sorry Jaskier. Sorry for what I allowed to happen and sorry for how I treated you. I am sorry for my cruel words and I didn’t mean to attack you. My love I… don’t know what to say.” Geralt was speaking so quietly that Jaskier barely heard him despite his inhuman senses. Hearing the endearment from Geralt hurt fiercely.

_But it wasn’t just Geralt’s fault, wasn’t it?_

_Jaskier hadn’t noticed what had ailed his soulmate. He felt so inadequate and selfish. The bard had cried and left while Geralt had suffered._

“I shouldn’t have left. That day, on the mountain, I should have known something was wrong but I was blinded by my own emotions.” Jaskier was ashamed.

This time it was Geralt who took a couple steps towards him and spoke a bit louder and clearer: “I should have protected you and yet I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail me!” Jaskier’s head snapped up, his blue eyes finding and locking on Geralt’s golden ones.

“I am responsible for what my body did.” Jaskier could see that Geralt believed what he just said.

Jaskier closed the distance between them, his hand hovering in front of Geralt. The bard wanted to touch him, reassure him that… _all of this felt so absurd!_

“May I touch you?” Now Jaskier’s voice was the one that sounded small and insecure.

“Always”, Geralt covered Jaskier’s hand with his own and guided it to the bouquet of dandelions in the centre of his chest. The bard smiled weakly.

“When I saw you just now I felt torn between wanting to yell at you for everything that’s happened and relieve myself of my selfish anger and hurt and yet… the greater part of my heart wanted to hug you, reassure myself that this time it was really you who was standing in front of me and not some _abomination_ of a Djinn that tried to annihilate your soul and steal your body.” Jaskier’s was shaking all over, his throat felt clogged and his eyes felt hot.

Instead of replying Geralt relieved Jaskier from the bundle under his arm, dropped it and took a hold of Jaskier’s thick woollen tunic. He breathed: “May I?”

Jaskier nodded and Geralt slowly stripped him down to his undergarments before he questioningly glanced at his love once more. Jaskier smiled, really smiled despite his watery eyes and whispered: “Go ahead.”

Once Jaskier was fully naked Geralt dropped his towel and both men gazed at each other softly. Their soulmarks and Geralt’s new scars were the only things different from the last time they saw each other bare. It felt like a lifetime ago.

The Witcher then wordlessly guided his bard to the hot spring and helped him inside. He seemed unsure how to proceed now. Geralt had obviously planned to wash Jaskier but the Witcher probably also prepared for a… rougher conversation so Jaskier took his love’s hand and asked Geralt to join him. Geralt complied immediately and grabbed the soap for their hair.

“Did you break into my room to retrieve all this?” Jaskier chuckled but his Witcher seemed mildly offended.

“Of course I didn’t! You left them in my saddle bags when we… _parted_ and I haven’t been able to use them without… feeling a lot.”

“Oh. I apologise, it was meant to be a joke. A bad one it seems. May I-“

“I want to bathe you first!” The words burst out of Geralt with vehemence.

Jaskier was speechless for a moment but nodded and turned around to settle his back against Geralt’s chest. The touch was electrifying. It had been _so long_ time since...

_Nevermind._

Geralt was oddly stiff behind him and it took Jaskier quite a few minutes to relax as well. The Witcher set the soap aside, carefully poured water over Jaskier’s head and worked up a good lather before he gently touched the bard’s hair and started to massage his head. All tension drained from the fae as his mate proceeded to take care of him. Geralt’s chest slowly started to rumble with his typical growly-purring that showed he was calm and enjoying himself as well. Jaskier didn’t notice closing his eyes in contentment.

After rinsing the soap from his beloved’s hair Geralt asked Jaskier to scoot a few inches forward. It would be easier to wash the rest of him that way. The fae also fetched the soap he used for his skin, turned around and handed it to Geralt with a happy chirp.

Geralt’s eyes widened and his scent spiked with elation. A slow, tender smile stretched his lips, reaching his eyes and setting the molten gold of his iris aflame. Jaskier was breathless, his chirp had been unintentional but honest and he was suddenly reminded why he first fell in love with the Wolf grinning at him.

Oh yes, Jaskier and Geralt had fallen in love long before their soulmarks had first showed. Jaskier’s human body had reached adulthood more than a century ago and it was his fae body that needed such a long time to strengthen and learn to contain his power.

Feeling Geralt’s hand gently touching his skin was marvellous. Jaskier was lost in the sensation of sword callouses and soap massaging his back and shoulders and then moving on to his arms and hands. His Witcher took great care when washing every single finger the bard had before advancing to rub his chest and stomach with just as much affection. It felt like a belly rub and this was the body-part his Wolf enjoyed touching the most. Jaskier guessed it had something to do with his mutagens since all the Witchers were a bit _strange_ sometimes, acting like their namesake-animals.

The bard’s thoughts soon petered out into nothingness as Geralt gingerly took his half-hard prick in hand, stroking it softly, washing his pubic hair and moving on to his legs. Jaskier allowed himself to be moved around while the Witcher’s nimble fingers worked their way along one of the bard’s legs. The other one was massaged next and Jaskier’s aching soon disappeared completely. At last Geralt parted Jaskier’s butt cheeks to clean and tease his mate.

Once Jaskier was breathless and sure Geralt was done he turned around and sat up on his knees, kneeling between his Wolf’s parted thighs. The fae gently took a hold of Geralt’s face and tilted his head, giving his Witcher enough time to object. Slowly and tenderly Jaskier’s silky soft lips touched Geralt’s slightly chapped ones. They both groaned quietly, moving their lips carefully and taking their time. One kiss turned into two and Jaskier pressed himself closer to his love who embraced him immediately. They continued their lovely kisses for a little longer, sweet passion fuelling them.

Geralt’s fingers gently teased along Jaskier’s skin as one of his hands made their way from his shoulder down towards the bard’s cock. The Witcher’s fingers rubbed along Jaskier’s hipbones and when his fae’s legs parted a bit and an encouraging moan left his lips Geralt’s fingertips carefully touched Jaskier’s pubic hair, letting his finger carefully move around. He pulled back and whispered: “Is this okay Jask? Your arousal smells honey-sweet and I’d like to touch your prick.”

Jaskier chuckled and pushed said prick towards Geralt: “Of course it’s okay. I’m all yours, my dear.”

With his bard’s consent Geralt wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s cock and slowly started to rub it, feeling its veins and then started to gradually jerk him off. Swiping his thumb over the tip every now and again had Jaskier moan and shudder in his arms. The fae deepened their kisses, tongues dancing with each other messily. It didn’t take long for Jaskier to feel pressure and heat gather in his tummy and Geralt broke their kiss and shoved his nose into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, scenting him.

It was Geralt’s little kitten-licks combined with his thumb teasing his slit that pulled Jaskier over. His muscles tensed and he held on to Geralt’s shoulders tightly as pleasure flooded his system. It took him a while to gather his wits.

Jaskier breathed into Geralt’s ear: “Thank you dearest. Would you like me to return the favour?”

But Geralt shook his head; he didn’t want to be touched sexually. Jaskier smiled knowingly and asked: “I’d love to wash your body though, would you enjoy that?”

This time Geralt nodded eagerly and they switched positions. Washing Geralt’s marvellous hair was a very welcome task so Jaskier took his time. The Witcher was growling and purring and Jaskier found himself whispering sweet words of devotion to the man he loved. Geralt melted in his arms when Jaskier’s fingers started to circle around the dandelions on his arms lightly, washing his skin carefully.

_Geralt was precious._

“I love how those delicate flowers enhance your striking features, they make you look even more stunning than usual. You’re practically radiant and your scars are a fetching addition to the canvas that is your skin, I love each and every dandelion on your body and if you allow me, I’ll make sure to kiss every single one later.” Jaskier was rambling and didn’t expect Geralt mumbled answer: “Yours are gorgeous too. ‘M glad we’re soulmates, was worried ‘bout facing the world without getting to call you mine.”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his chest and he swallowed thickly. He knew Geralt could feel his rapid heartbeat and smell his overwhelming emotions, the Witcher was purring even louder now so Jaskier decided to indulge him with a thorough belly-rub.

They’d be okay, Jaskier was sure of it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The next morning Geralt and Jaskier walked down to the great hall, holding hands and smiling at each other. They’d be okay. It would take time to come to terms with what had happened but they’d be okay. They loved, valued, respected and took care of each other.

Cheers erupted from the breakfast table when they entered and while Geralt blushed, Jaskier looked like was the luckiest man on the continent.

_He probably was._

While they took a seat at the table Jaskier could spot Geatan, Letho, Lambert and Aiden turn to Vesemir, each of them grumbling quietly and handing him a couple coins. Eskel’s eyes widened slightly and so did Jaskier’s.

A few minutes later the Witcher’s usual banter started and Ciri was holding her own amongst them after wordlessly asking Jaskier whether he was okay now. The bard’s heart fluttered at her caring and protective nature. She was certainly Geralt’s daughter.

They were almost done eating when Jaskier teasingly implied that Eskel must be _oh so lonely_ now that he was the only young unmated Witcher at the keep. Vesemir snorted but didn’t say anything.

Eskel smirked and shrugged. “Nah,” he replied leisurely, “I’m good. I can easily wait a couple more decades before _this kind of drama_ ” – the Witcher waved his spoon into Geralt’s direction who raised his eyebrows in challenge – “or _this kind of chaos_ ” – the spoon moved on to Lambert who was grumbling about something while he was perched in Aiden’s lap and being petted by the Cat who was smirking their way – “with me wearing _this dumbly besotted expression_ while watching my mate set something aflame” – the was now gesturing at Letho who watched Geatan stab and kill his breakfast once more, choosing to ignore Eskel – “whacks me over the head and knocks me over sideways.”

Little did he know…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me :3  
> I hope you enjoyed reading this little ficlet (that turned out way longer than I thought it would ^^")


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